


Leave the Light on

by stillusesapencil



Series: Javid's indie playlist [3]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Heartache, M/M, Some Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillusesapencil/pseuds/stillusesapencil
Summary: December, and Jack will be back soon. Christmas, and he’ll be in town, visiting Medda and Charlie. Winter, and Jack hasn’t reached out to Davey at all.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Series: Javid's indie playlist [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616590
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Leave the Light on

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration come from Maggie Roger's [Light On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSFjYe54uv4.com). 
> 
> The story she tells in the song is a little different than the one I'm telling here, but I think it works. Also, some might say Maggie Rogers isn't technically indie, but I found her on a Spotify indie playlist, so there's that, I guess??

December, and Jack will be back soon. Christmas, and he’ll be in town, visiting Medda and Charlie. Winter, and Jack hasn’t reached out to Davey at all. 

He knows Jack is visiting, because  _ Sarah _ told him, because Katherine told her. Jack chose to tell Katherine he was coming back, and didn’t even send Davey a text message.

It’s been four months since they spoke last, since Davey poured all he could into one last desperate airport goodbye kiss. He still has the voicemail on his phone, the one Jack left him later that day. He can recite it by heart now, knows the exact length of the pauses between words, the faint airport ding in the background, the pitch of the break in Jack’s voice. 

He knows this the same way he knew Jack: every detail memorized, from the angle of the crooked corner of his smile to the way paint would speckle his hands. 

“So are you going to talk to him?” Sarah breaks into his thoughts, standing in front of him and playing with the cuffs of her flannel. Her hair is thrown into a sloppy over-the-shoulder braid, and her ballcap is on backwards.

Davey runs a hand through his hair. He shifts on his bed, listening to the mattress creak beneath him. “I...don’t know.”

Sarah sighs, shifting her weight to one hip. “You  _ should.  _ Text him, something, geez.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he’s moved on and thinks I’m stupid? What if--”

“Hey.” Sarah sits beside him, patting his back. “Deep breath.”

Davey complies, as she scratches along his spine with short, blunt nails. 

“That boy could never hate you. Never.” She says seriously, leaning back to look him in the eyes.

Davey makes a face. “What do you know about boys? You’re a lesbian.”

Sarah snorts, half-smiling. “This is true. However, I don’t have to know about boys to know that Jack cares for you.” Her expression turns to concern. “You know that, don’t you?”

And maybe Davey knows that, but right now he can’t believe that, so he looks away and nods, pressing their shoulders together. “Yeah. I do.” And then he reaches up and tugs her hat over her eyes, making her squeal and laugh, tackling him onto the bed and pinning his shoulders. His glasses fall crooked, and he grins at his sister, because she may be a clueless lesbian when it comes to girls, but when it comes to reading him and his anxieties, she’s a goddamn genius.

~

In the end, Spot texts him. 

**_Gettn the guys together fr game night. U in?_ **

Davey hesitates, his fingers over the screen. He wants to ask if Jack will be there, if Jack knows he’s invited. 

He types a message. Deletes it. Types again. Deletes it. A third time, and he closes the app and shuts off his phone. He lays back on his bed, staring at the pale plastic stars eleven-year-old Davey had stuck in the ceiling in the forms of real constellations. He takes a deep breath, so big he feels his chest creaking. He counts to ten, and lets it out.

**_Yes_ ** _ , _ he types, and calls it good.

~

Davey, chronically early, arrives at Race and Spot’s apartment before the rest. They used to have game nights all the time, mostly hosted by Race, the nerd. They played Catan or Risk, Pinoche or Poker, intense strategy games upon which bets were always placed. Depending on who was there, they’d divide into teams and play that way. Spot and Race always split up, because Albert declared it unfair to have them on the same team. Jack and Davey always paired together. That’s just the way it was. 

When he gets there, Race is setting up for Catan, with the expansion pack. 

Spot gives him a fistbump, and Race gives him a hug, and Davey wants to scream at how familiar it all is. They haven’t done this in ages, and still nothing has changed. Race sits him down, and starts interrogating him about his life, the nosey gay meddler. 

So Davey tells him: he’s gotten a job at the children’s library, restocking books and dusting shelves. He’s gotten accepted to grad school, too, working on getting his masters in English. He’d like to teach English some day, to thirsty minds like his own. Help guide those lonely souls who found solace in the company of words. Yes, he’s still living at home, but mostly to save money and help his mom out. 

He leaves out the important part: Jack broke his heart in September and no repairs have yet been made.

The rest of the guys trickle in--Albert and Finch, Elmer. With each one, it feels more and more like no time has passed at all. 

And then Jack--always late, always late--Jack and Charlie arrive. Charlie is on his arm crutches, smiling and getting wrapped in hugs. He’s a freshman in college now, and he looks older, more mature, but still the same joyful soul he’s always been. (Nothing ever changes, not really, right?) 

And Jack--well, he’s gotten a haircut, Davey notices, and a new Yankees ballcap. His jeans have a hole in the knee, but he’s wearing the same padded vest he’s had forever. He gives Race a hug, the taller boy draping his long limbs all over Jack as they both laugh. He looks healthy. He looks blissful. For a moment, Davey just stares. And then Jack turns to him.

“Davey,” he says, and it’s the most gut-wrenching beautiful sound Davey’s ever heard. 

“Jack,” he manages, soft. 

Neither reaches for the other, but Davey aches to, flexing his hands at his side until they shake.

Spot flicks his eyes between the two of them, and coughs. “So. Let’s get this party started, huh?”

“I’ll--I’ll be on Charlie’s team, yeah?” Jack says, grinning, but his words are stiff and forced. 

Davey swallows, throat burning. Nothing has changed, until everything has changed.

Spot elbows him. “You want me to kick his ass?” he asks, in an undertone.

Davey shakes his head. 

Spot grunts. “Fine. Partners?”

“Yeah.”

The beers come out and they start playing. Race plays alone, because he’s a fricking genius. Albert and Elmer partner together, and immediately start to lose. Finch plays on his own, but they can all tell he’s not really trying. Jack and Charlie do their best, but really, it’s Spot and Davey that are Race’s main opponent. They cut him off, withhold trade, and flummox all they can.

Race still wins. 

After, as they start clearing out to go home, Charlie tugs Davey over to Jack.

“I’ll catch a ride home with Elmer, ok?” He looks between them, clearly thinking they want to be alone. 

Davey wants to protest, even starts to say something, but Charlie has hustled away. He looks back to Jack. 

“I’ll take the subway,” Jack croaks.

_ “No!” _ Davey bursts out. “I’ll--I’ll drive you, let me drive you, please--”

Jack places his hand on Davey’s shoulder. The touch spreads right through Davey, down his spide and through his heart, making it beat double time. The first time in four months, and all Jack does is touch his shoulder, and Davey is at his mercy. 

“Let’s go home, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Davey concedes. 

So they drive, the streetlights reflecting on the road, leftover dirty slush clumping on sidewalks. In his peripheral, he sees the lights on Jack’s face. Green, red, blue. For a long time, neither of them say anything. They just sit, expanding into each other’s space, trying to reaffix their edges together. 

Finally, Davey breaks. “Is it everything you dreamed it’d be?”

Jack thinks, resettling his hat. “Hotter. Less green. But god, you’ve never seen a sunset like the ones out there.” 

“Do you paint them?”

“Painted so many sunsets I ran outta orange paint,” he chuckles, turning to watch buildings pass by. 

“Are you fluent in Spanish yet?” Davey tries to joke.

Jack snorts. “Naw. But I’s been talkin’ to some hispanic artists, about symbolism and medium and--art stuff, y’know.”

“That’s good.” Davey says vaguely. “Glad you have a community.” 

Again, Jack snorts. “Yeah, just another wannabe artist tryin’ to make his way.” His words drip bitterness, speak to hardships he’s not sharing.

Davey remembers when Jack would share anything--secrets, food, a bed. He stops at a four-way. “Have you made friends?” he asks, soft. 

Jack shifts in his seat. “A few,” he mumbles. “None like you, Davey.” And he turns to look at him, eyes shadowed in the darkness.

Behind them, a car honks. Davey tears his eyes away from Jack to focus on the road.

~

It’s well after two by the time they pull up to Jack’s house. Maybe Davey was selfish, driving Jack a meandering way all over the city before finally getting to Medda’s Manhattan house. They’d talked, a bit, about Jack’s internship and Davey’s classes. About professors and bosses and new coffee shops. But it’s all skipping stones, surface level ripples that don’t touch anything real between them. 

Davey puts the car in park. 

“Would ya look at that,” Jack says. “She left the light on for me.” He shakes his head, looking at the glow from the front window. He glances back at Davey. “She always promised to leave one on, so I’d always have a welcome home. Nice, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. 

Jack unbuckles, but doesn’t reach for the door. “Davey, I--” he freezes. Messes with his hat. Won’t look him in the eye. “I miss you.”

And Davey knows how hard it is for Jack, to be vulnerable, to admit he can’t always do it alone. He breaches the space between them, putting a hand on Jack’s. “I miss you too,” he rasps. 

Jack jerks his chin like a nod. “I wish…” 

Davey squeezes, ever so slightly. 

“Wish things’d been different.” He straightens, shrugs. His eyes are wet, but no tears fall. 

“Me too.”

“Take care of yourself. Live the nerdy life you’s always dreamed of.”

Davey chuckles, the sound coming out around the wobbly lump in his throat and lungs.

“And--call me sometimes. Or text me. Hell, send me a picture of a bathroom stall for all I’s care. Just--”

“I will,” Davey interrupts, shakey. “But you have to, too.” 

“Okay.” Jack says, final. He takes a deep breath. “My flight’s in two days. I’s gotta--”

“It’s okay, Jack.”  _ It’s okay that you’re leaving again. It’s okay we didn’t talk for a while. It’s okay that things aren’t the same. It’s okay. _

“Yeah. Goodnight, Davey.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

And Jack finally gets out of the car. 

Davey waits until he’s safely inside before driving away. 

~

Two days later, he gets a no context picture of a urinal. Probably from the airport. Only when it blurs does he realize he’s tearing up. He remembers Medda and the living room light. He snaps a quick picture of one of the desk lamps at the library, and sends it back without a caption. 

_ Leave the light on, _ he thinks. Jack will know what he means.

**Author's Note:**

> They are playing Catan because Racetrack Higgins is a goddamn nerd and you cannot change my mind.


End file.
